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Marty and Philippe were happy little freeway loafers. They thrived on great debate as cars whizzed by dangerously close to them on the shoulder of the freeway entrance. Today’s debate? Who was the more sexually frustrated confection: lollipop or candy corn. Philippe suggested “Let’s argue as though neither candy is consumed. In that scenario, candy corn would be far less frustrated as it always has other corns around it.”

“Alas, what if it was the last corn in the bag?”

“He still would have spent time with others whereas the lollipop, being individually wrapped, is forever in a condom-like case so its candy flesh never touches another, and therefore makes it the more frustrated of the two.”

Marty grew angry, unable to come up with a response. So when the beemer ran over Philippe, dragging him all the way down to the end of the ramp, Marty didn’t need to say anything. He was pleased that he won the debate, even if it was by violence.

Marty mourned for precisely twenty-eight seconds before looking around for something new to bug. His options were limited. A tattered $3 umbrella, a plastic bag filled with seven week old sushi, or a Violent Femmes CD. Marty didn’t like his options, they all seemed beneath his intellectual bar.

Philippe cried out silently as the pain was far too great. Were it not for his triple-stitched insole, he would be completely in two parts from the silver monstrosity. His upper leather was ripped entirely apart, his outer sole left behind six feet up the ramp when it snagged on some metal garbage. He desperately tried to calm his breathing, telling himself “It’s only a few cuts and scrapes, it’s not that serious.” But it was quite serious. He wasn’t really a shoe anymore, more like a poor man’s clog. For an italian loafer, such as himself, that was pretty much a death sentence, definitely the end of any prestige in his social world.

Marty said “Fuck it.” He didn’t need anyone to talk to, he could talk to himself. He started counting red cars, “1,2,3- burgundy…Hm, Should I count that?” He missed several crimson cars as he debated what should fall into the red category. When another car came extremely close, he realized he found himself boring and started wondering how he and Philippe could have been friends all this time. It wasn’t his charm, and it wasn’t that they were a pair; Marty was a Target bargain-buy. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself. Philippe had been true to him, never looking down on his status in the fashion world, just accepting him for being there.

The truth was Philippe was almost completely blind. Would he have talked to Marty knowing he was faux leather? There was no way of knowing that, but Philippe did figure out Marty wasn’t Italian and still didn’t pass judgement on him. Philippe was so sick of hearing nothing but pomposity that he found Marty’s banter quite refreshing. He didn’t mind that Marty lacked certain vocabulary and logic because Marty had a diehard passion that he expressed with every word. Philippe agonized over his quickly fading self and wished Marty was by his side to say something irreverent. Final breaths nearing, Philippe did all he could to pull himself together and die with dignity.

Marty looked around hopeless, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Luckily, a drunken Hyundai ran over Marty at that moment, so Marty rejoiced until he was ripped to shreds, dead before ever making down to Philippe. The plastic bag looked at the umbrella with a sigh of relief and the umbrella cried “I still think the candy corn is the more frustrated candy!” The Violent Femmes CD just shook its head in disbelief.

There is a reason nothing happened on this blog in 2014. The truth is, fashion is art, and I love art. But, I don’t particularly like talking about fashion to such an extent as to dedicate a whole blog to it. I originally had a blog on short fiction, “Chickadee-head Lives!”, titled after a favorite character of mine that I created. While I loved it, there was someone in my life who found it uninteresting, and convinced me my energies would be better spent blogging about trends. 2013, I said goodbye to Chickadee and hello to suicidal fashionista. 2014, I said goodbye to the influence in my life that convinced me to stop writing fiction and just sat around trying to figure out wtf to do next.

2014 I left this blog to rot. After a year in the grave, waiting for the maggots to suck out the last of the marrow, I have come to a final decision. Writing a whole blog on fashion is just not my thing. I like being weird and creepy and pushing the edges of insanity. But, I also love photography and high fashion imagery. Can you see where I am going with this? A marriage of my former, wacky writing blog to fashiony artsy photos I love to create. So here is to 2015, a year of figuring out just how to marry these two beings, to evolve into a new creation, a world of words and art and darkness with glitter and guts. It may be a disaster or it may be exactly what the doctor ordered.

To my fans, new, old, and out there, here’s to a year of experimentation and fun. Stand by me and lets make some shitty magic happen. Push the boundaries and reimagine this fashion blog into something more “Cristina Cacciotti” than was once on these pages.

I love living the high life in platforms and stilettos. Up until about two years ago, I was a “boot or die” type of chick for 2 reasons:

1. I love the feel of clunking around like a badass and

2. Have you ever seen Miss Congeniality? Yeah, that’s me in heels.

Before my epiphany, I was lucky if I had a single pair of 3 inch heels in my closet (true fashion savants everywhere are crying blasphemy, bitch!) And then one day, I was reading some famous tall chick’s comment about truly loving her height and not caring if she ended up 6’1 in heels next to her 5’10 date…Ladies and gentlemen, the monster inside of me awoken. That being said, I still need to really take it to a new level and invest in my true amazon princess stature! Especially since seasonal sales are just around the corner (shop smart, just not S-Mart.)

Without further adieu, here are the eight reasons my cutie patooty needs more heels:

Aldo.

Aldo with Marc Jacob’s fingerless gifty gloves.

Aldo with Marc jacobs gifty gloves

Let’s start with a the perfect beginner heel. If I frack these up, the repair will probably cost more than just buying a new pair but the platform 6-inch heel gives a sense of stability while the color screams “Hell yeah, I’m wearing bitch heels.”. Suede…maybe? Totally comfy though and a conversation piece if worn with the right outfit. Reason for new heels? I need to upgrade them to the more adult party-girl fab heel, ones that the repair costs a mere 10% of the original price.

Saychelles. Really? Chunky heels that pre-date the decision to get my height on. Totally adorable and perfect for the librarian look, or a messy, frat style, Halloween party. But, that being said, they are well over 5 years old and have yet to visit the cobbler. It’s time to revamp this oldie-but-goody with a lil Marc Jacobs or Prada take on the heeled Mary Jane. Better yet? Chanel…because every woman needs Chanel, and this is not an opinion, this is an empirical fact.

MOMA.

The “where’s Waldo” for fashion heels.

Ah, the chunky business-sensible with a hint of style high heel…Jeffrey Campbell makes the same pump with a helluvalot more punk rock attitude while keeping it high and business-savvy…Keep in mind, I work in the entertainment business so our business “casual” is actually business “#awesomesauce” (Jessica Radloff, this reference is for you!)

Marséll.

Yeah, that’s a beanie baby.

Designer, yes. Fabulous, definitely. But! The clownirific witchy heel could stand to gain some inches. Not judging, just saying. An absolute staple in my closet which means I, of course, need something equally as versatile and utilitarian as this heel, but with a bit more flash. This only makes my list because we all need more than one go-to pair. I mean, really.

Marséll.

Derelicte Collection

As much as the “simple pull-on bootie with pizazz” rocks, can I truly survive with a single color? Easy to put on? Check. Stylish? Check. Goes with Jeans? Totes. Again, I need at least one other pair in this easy, but fabulous, style…it’s common sense!

Pierre Hardy.No, really! Classy, gorgeous, and the perfect reason I need more. I can’t wear these with every cocktail dress in my closet, and they are a pair that will last me YEARS. I cannot tell you how many pairs of this style I’ve discovered in my mom’s closet from many decades ago. Glittery and simple, that’s what we all want! But we could all use a pair like this that’s more era-centric. I need a “Hansel’s so hot right now” cocktail heel.

Yves Saint Laurent.

The Messiah in shoe form.

For no other reason than this is my favorite designer label of all time so I must have more, more, more of it. It’s the perfect label for “chic with a hint of edge.”

XOXO, until next time!

P.S. – working to document all that I own to find the holes- chime in and comment here or email me at suicidalfashionista@gmail.com

P.P.S. – the trick to not pulling a Miss Congeniality? HEELS THAT FIT!

P.P.P.S – Apologies for all the Sci-Fi references… AKA bonus points if you fracking get it! ;)

Product Review Wednesday is here!!! And the silence? Finally Gone. I couldn’t be more excited to post after such a long hiatus. I’ve missed you all dearly. But before I share my closet with you, here is a brief blurb on Origami Owl as I discovered their necklaces recently and they make me wanna swoon like a school girl running into a shirtless Benedict Cumberbatch. The bangs, the eyes, the quirky sense of self- oh wait, I’ve digressed into Ben’s charms when I should be sharing about these other glistening charms.

SO the Set Up: My Mom was one of the many amazing keynote speakers during this years’ LA’s Ultimate Women’s Expo, October 26-27th 2013. Since this fell on a weekend, I jumped at the chance to play my mom’s “hardcore” bodyguard- in other words, save my dad from the sea of women (and some fabulous cross dresser’s) that would inevitably hit on his adorable Italian patooty. There were some great booths including free massages around every corner. I should have paused to get a massage, but I was running late – downtown LA ladies…on a Saturday…at the end of the month?!?! (You know I missed out on some underground warehouse label sales!) And yes, My mom and I totally matched- without discussing beforehand!

The Discovery: A supportive fan came up to my mom after her Q & A and offered her a personal locket. Eh, a locket? WRONG. This thing is fabulous, and the reinvention of the charm necklace/bracelet- you know what I’m talking about. Blingtastic and a show stopper, plus totally customizable so you can princess it up, or goth it out (Ehem). Don’t believe me? Check out their website at http://www.origamiowl.com/ to check out all the options- believe me, spend 15 minutes and you might just explode with all the “I wantzzzzzzz” . Hint: Holiday season is approaching and this self design locket is REASONABLY PRICED! I KNOW!!!!!

Gift your sorority sis, Mom, or Yourself. Best part, it’s also a fun site to just window shop in because there are just so many cute friggin charms.

It’s the Thursday beforehand 30th birthday so of course I wanted to roll out of bed and wear all black. Instead, I opted for way too much orange (because whoever said orange was the new pink was seriously disturbed….

…just like me!)

We have a now defunct brand Ralph Lauren Rugby plaid motorcycle jacket, chaser casual sweater over a Mauro Grifoni tee, some tangerine loving Henry and Belle skinny bootie tights…errr, um, jeans, and some extra tall hue socks and frye boots. All with a hint of golden skulls courtesy of my scarf.

So class, I may be getting older, but I definitely brought my sunshine wear to the party…and some fragile hair to boot. Xoxo,